


this shifting wind

by tritonreverse



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Rated teen for language, academic decathlon as plot device and comic relief, eventual Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, haven't we all had days where we need excessive amounts of sleep?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-03-02 07:42:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18806740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tritonreverse/pseuds/tritonreverse
Summary: It's funny, how quickly things settle back down to normal after tragedy, or reversed-tragedy, or whatever they were all calling it these days, or at least, how quickly things seem to. For Michelle Jones, though, things were about to slide right back into strangeness.





	1. unsettling coincidences

Things had settled down in the last few weeks. On a geopolitical scale, everything was still a disaster  _ (how did you handle lines of succession when someone came back from non-being?) _ but on a local level, everyone was back in school, homework was a thing again, and MJ was expected to somehow lead an acadec team that had four people on it she’d never met, because they’d been sixth and seventh graders what felt like just a few weeks ago, to her. 

It was weird, though, how quickly everyone seemed to be able to move past things. Sure, every once in a while there would be weirdness, like a teacher who hadn’t disappeared shivering when calling on a student who had, or the fact that in the five years her local bodega’s cat had died and the new cat didn’t like her at all  _ (something that was upsetting her far more than it should, to be frank) _ . She kept writing 2018 on papers, still, and had taken to doing the date (and only the date) in pencil, rather than her normal blue ink. 

Someone dropped a stack of books on the library table next to her, and MJ started. She hadn’t realized she was staring off into space, and that the acadec kids were filing in, including Peter, who hadn’t missed so much as a single practice since practices had started again.  _ (She’d asked Mr. Harrington why she was being automatically made captain again, even with five years having gone by for everyone else. He’d stared over her shoulder, and in the same tone of voice he used to tell Abe he wasn’t allowed to do bell comedy said “because the team didn’t exist for five years,” which was both understandable and frankly, stupid.) _ She cleared her throat. 

“So, everyone review their specialty cards last weekend?” 

Even now, her voice sounded weird to herself, but an assenting murmur came from around the table and she steadied her hands by pulling out the training binder. 

“Today we’re going to spend the first half of practice in complementary small groups, drilling the specialities, then we’ll switch it up and work on weaknesses, which basically means talk amongst yourselves about things related to acadec.”

She sat back, fighting the urge to rub at her forehead in an attempt to alleviate the headache that had appeared seemingly out of nowhere. To her surprise, there was no argument, just a quick shuffling of chairs as everyone split up, but if the universe had decided to smile on her with this gift, who was she to reject it? 

MJ purposely worked with the newbies, trying to get Emma and Jacqui and Dom to feel like they did belong - as weird as it was for her, it must be twice as weird for them, to come into this school having heard stories about the upperclassmen _ (and women, ugh, the English language) _ who disappeared, and then to have those upperclassmen come back. Her headache abated, only to return after she gave in to her lesser urges and snapped at Flash after one too many literature-based dirty jokes.  _ (Every time someone didn’t laugh, he got louder, and she was just done with him.) _

“Yes, Eugene, we all know what Hamlet meant by ‘country matters.’ If you can’t stay on topic, just say nothing at all for the rest of practice.”

Flash blinked at her, but shut his mouth and picked up his book. The blessed silence was filled by the sounds of actual work, and the rest of practice passed quickly. In fact, by the time everyone was packing up their backpacks, MJ was a little freaked out. Flash had stayed quiet, something previously thought impossible, and everyone else had worked efficiently and quietly. It wasn’t like the first two meetings, where everyone just stared at each other in shell-shocked silence, or the last few, which had begun to relax into the natural rhythms of the team, humor and earnest competition in equal shares. 

No, today had been unusually focused, in a way that MJ couldn’t recall even before the events of a few weeks/five years ago, in a way that found itself pinned to MJ’s mental cork board. She didn’t have too much time to think about it, though, because the second she stepped through the library door Peter and Ned snapped to her side like magnets. 

“Dude, how did you get Flash to shut up like that?” Ned said, awe in his voice. “He didn’t even make a snide comment about your hair the way he usually does!” 

Peter was looking at her curiously out of the corner of his eye, and then started and exaggeratedly looked up at the ceiling then down at the books in his arms  _ (Did this idiot lose  _ **_another_ ** _ backpack? Again? Really, Peter?) _ when he realized she saw him staring. Fortunately for their awkward selves, Ned was ready to slide into the silence with a complete change of subject. 

“Anyway, Peter, did you see there’s a new special edition Minecraft Lego set out? Which, both makes sense and doesn’t because, Minecraft is basically digital Lego, right? But it might still be cool to pick up, unless you want to stick to collecting old stock Star Wars?” 

As he went on, MJ let the two of them get ahead of her. The duo of Peter-and-Ned had become a trio of Peter-and-Ned-and-MJ at some point over the last few weeks, the natural continuance (spurred on by tragedy) of what had already been happening prior to the whatever-the-news-was-calling-it-now, and she’d spent a shocking number of evenings at either one of their apartments. With how her head was beginning to hurt again, though, she really didn’t think she was up for a night of lightly mocking their Lego obsession and then debating the greater Star Wars canon. 

By the time the train arrived, her headache had abated but she was left feeling exhausted  _ (and annoyingly, not the normal kind of school-is-exhausting and existing among people who sometimes thought their brains made them exempt from basic decency is tiring way, but a full-body drained-ness, as if she were a washcloth wrung out to dry) _ . She sank gratefully into an open seat, leaning back against the interior of the train. Maybe it was just PMS that was making her so tired, though it shouldn’t be but who knew, anymore. They’d all jumped five years forward in time  _ (missing the next Star Wars movie, something that Ned complained about incessantly and Peter complained about when he briefly forgot he was Spider-man and also had lost basically everyone he ever loved) _ so the whole “way things were” thing was not exactly something she could count on anymore. 

As the train pulled away from the platform, MJ pulled  _ The House of the Spirits _ out of her bag, wanting to at least make a pretense at reading, even though with the way her brain currently felt like cotton she was pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to make it through a single page. At least if she had a book open on her lap she’d be doing the right kind of “don’t talk to me” signalling, in case her normal resting bitch face didn’t do the job.

Of course, with the way her afternoon had been going, it figured that as soon as she’d actually managed to focus enough to appreciate the way Isabel Allende was weaving her tale, some neckbeard in a plaid shirt grabbed on to the pole right in front of her. MJ tried to deliberately ignore him, her stare practically burning a hole in the pages in front of her, she could still see him leering in her peripheral vision, and she wasn’t surprised at all when he opened his mouth. 

“What’chu reading? Looks important.” 

_ (Why did men do that? If it looked important, why were you interrupting? And even if it were the sappiest romance to ever romance, if she had pulled “The Royal We” out of her bag instead of  Allende, wouldn’t the fact that she was reading be enough? Why the fuck was she expected to answer?)  _ Of course, in the time it took her to think that Monsieur Neckbeard apparently decided she wasn’t paying him enough attention. 

“Hey, I asked ‘what are you reading?’,” he said, slightly louder. 

MJ felt rage build up behind her eyes, the existential rage of existing as a woman, as a woman of color, as a person not interested in talking with other people on the transit that was just supposed to be a way for everyone to get from point A to B. Her headache returned, worse than ever. 

“Do us all a favor and shut up and  **_go away,_ ** ” she choked out. 

The gods or whatever must have been smiling on her that day. Just like with Flash,  _ (and perhaps even more surprisingly) _ , Plaid Shirt went. Just...went. Turned around, went down the car, and sat down. 

MJ didn’t know if it was relief that this guy wasn’t going to be the one who stabbed her for not smiling, or if the weight of the day, or everything else that led to the exhaustion crashing back down on her, worse than ever. She barely heard the announcement of her station, and it was only through sheer determination that she kept putting one foot in front of the other all the way until her feet led her through the apartment door.

_ I’ll just take a nap before dinner _ , she thought, dropping her bags inside of her bedroom, on top of the growing pile of newspapers she’d been collecting from the last five years. She should have probably taken some advil but the call of her bed was just too strong. Dimly, she heard her phone buzz, but was too close to sleep to do anything about it. 

> **Message from Peter Parker**
> 
> hey are you ok???


	2. consciously, sir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter freaks out and MJ starts putting pieces together. Ned's mainly interested in the upcoming Star Wars movies.

Somewhere in the grey fog that was the waking world, something was making an incredibly annoying noise. MJ reached out with her hand, feeling around almost on instinct in an attempt to make whatever it was shut up - and then sat straight upright in an adrenaline-fueled panic. _Oh shit, oh shit, oh -_

“SHIT!” she yelled.

“LANGUAGE, sleepyhead!” yelled back her mother from outside her closed bedroom door. MJ stared at her alarm clock, which definitely read 6:45 AM, and not PM, the way it should have, seeing as the last thing she remembered was collapsing into bed around five. She grabbed her phone, and had to stifle another curse. Apparently, it was actually the next day...and she’d fallen asleep without plugging it in, so she’d probably have to see if either of the nerd twins had a power block on them.

Peeling herself up out of bed was harder than it should be, especially without the adrenaline surge that had powered her first movement of the day. Her head felt better, but she still felt drained, a kind of bone-deep weariness that was really going to cause her some problems if stopping in at the local cafe for a coffee with a shot didn’t fix that _(yes, normally she preferred tea but even the strongest Earl Grey wasn’t going to do jack shit for this -this called for a medium cup of coffee, two pumps of hazelnut syrup, and a shot of espresso)_ not just because she needed to actually finish the assigned reading. _(Who was going to blame her for putting off three chapters of Catch-22? No one, that’s who.)_

She reached blindly into her closet for the nearest tee and pair of jeans, and grabbed the flannel shirt from off the back of her desk chair. Now was not the time for statement-making clothing decisions _(or trying to come up with something to grab Peter’s atten-BAD MJ, NOT THAT THOUGHT)_. Now was the time to stumble into the bathroom, spend five minutes staring at herself in the mirror, throw micellar water at her face, grab an eyeliner to attempt to apply on the train, yank her hair up into a bun, and then spend her remaining 10 minutes before leaving sitting at the table, staring into space with her tea and bagel.

Well, that was the plan, until MJ got into the kitchen to find her mom standing in front of the toaster, looking worried.

“Are you feeling okay? You were sleeping so hard last night when we got home - I tried to wake you up for dinner, but you just wouldn’t wake up, so I just set your alarm and figured that you could make a snack if you woke up hungry.”

Pre-caffeine, half of MJ’s brain was taken up with the fact that her mother was blocking the toaster. The other half _(unfortunately for the hungry half, which couldn’t decide between whole-wheat and chocolate chip)_ was having some difficulty processing the fact that she apparently slept for 13-something hours straight.

“I...must be getting over a cold or something,” she offered up weakly, diverting from her bagel quest to grab the largest mug out of the cabinet. She tried to ignore her mother’s searching gaze as she reached into the fridge for the water pitcher to fill said mug _(why was their largest mug a damn Stark Industries mug, that was patently unfair)_ and she managed to stick it in the microwave to heat before getting back to the question.

“I don’t know, I was just really tired from school,” she continued, “I’m feeling better now, though, can I get a bagel or...?” Her mom glared at MJ’s tone, but did, finally, allow MJ access to the bagels.

One chocolate chip bagel, mug of tea, and last-minute decision to change from a frankly terrible science pun shirt _(Had she stolen that shirt from Peter? Why on Earth else would she own a shirt that said “two moles per liter” on it? Why had she grabbed it? These were all questions she was not currently equipped to answer)_ to something a little more eff-the-patriarchy-y later, MJ ran out the door.

Unlike the night before, her train ride in to school went smoothly, everyone too absorbed in their podcasts, books, newspapers, and the practice of ignoring everyone else as was right and proper to be an asshole. MJ hopped off a stop early, hiking her way north a few blocks only to discover the line at the coffee place was entirely too long for her liking. She almost turned around and walked out, but something about the frantic look on her face got her not just to the front of the line, but excellent service. 

 _Thank you, whoever, for me remembering to bring my travel mug_ , MJ thought as she full-out ran into the building, _because a paper cup would not have survived this._  Normally, she wouldn’t be caught dead admitting that she could and would perform physical activities _(her long-running contest of wills with Coach Wilson in which she did whatever they were required to, but with a book, was born of a really un-MJ-like knowledge of how awkward she looked at a full sprint)_ but now it was more important for her and her dangerous and precious load of caffeine to beat the bell into AP English 3.

She did just barely make it, getting both feet officially inside the door as the PA system crackled to life. Clutching her coffee close, she had just taken a deep breath when Peter inexplicably jumped what must have been halfway across the room - like, literally jumped, the legs of his desk loudly clattering back to the floor as he stared at her from three rows back. _(Peter, you idiot, just wear a sign that says “I’m Spider-Man,” why don’t you?)_ Luckily for both of them, everyone else appeared to be cramming the same three chapters she’d ended up just skimming on the train, and so no one really seemed to register the fact that Parker looked like he’d seen a ghost or something equally inexplicable - or the fact that MJ had almost been late to class.

MJ didn’t have time for whatever was going on with him, though, so she flipped him off after making sure Mr. Chan was busy with attempting to get Flash and Betty to stop sniping at each other to see and slumped into her seat. While she wasn’t quite as exhausted, she was still entirely too tired for this class - which meant that, of course, Mr. Chan called on her first for “her thoughts on the last few chapters.”

MJ sighed heavily.

“War is hell and unjust, no one is moral, men write self-important novels on these themes, no one ever lauds the writing about women in war because it’s either ‘women’s fiction’ or just not seen as being as valuable as the experiences of men, and this goes doubly for the experiences of women of color in war-zones, who, if they’re mentioned, are only used to further men’s pain” she said, attempting to both put together an argument that she would defend until the bell rang if need-be, but also was enough of a word salad that Chan would ignore her for the rest of class. Not that she hadn’t built that opinion over the course of reading the book, but she had been planning to save it for the topic of an essay rather than a conversation-stopper.   

The rest of the morning blissfully passed by in a blur, though she did have to reassure Lea over gchat that no, she wasn’t dead, and no, while MJ was tired she didn’t think she needed to resort to the abomination Lea saw going around on Twitter, that of brewing coffee with Red Bull. By lunch time, MJ was feeling much more normal, though a lot of that probably was because she’d managed to keep her head down and not talk.

It was with this blissful unawareness that she sat down to lunch at her normal table, which had at some point in the last few months gone from her sitting at one end laughing at Peter and Ned to the three of them sitting together, sometimes in silence, sometimes debating everything stupid and serious. Everything seemed fine as MJ pulled her peanut butter sandwich out of her bag, but she glanced up from aggressively peeling the crust off and was stopped short by Peter’s expression. He was clearly trying to not look...the way he looked, but Peter Parker, again, had never been known for his ability to act. _He looks like someone’s running fingernails over a chalkboard just for him_ , she thought.

It clearly took an effort for him to slide onto his normal seat across from her, and the combination of puzzlement and freaked-out-ed-ness might have been enough to make her laugh had it not been so unusual. She stared back at him, raising an eyebrow while Ned, apparently oblivious to their little interpersonal drama, continued whatever conversation he’d been having with Peter as they walked from engineering.

“...but of course they won’t make the Vader movie we all want, right? Because you’d end up rooting for someone who was really doing terrible things, which is okay in comics but would be a problem in a movie, even though think of the merch, Peter,” he stopped. “...Peter? Earth to Pete? Oh hey, MJ.”

“What is _wrong_ with you, Parker?” MJ said.

He shivered a little.

“Nothing!” The word came out strangled, like he was fighting something.

“Peter. You look like someone just killed a puppy in front of you and you can’t figure out why and considering that I assume you’ve been in school all morning that’s concerning.”

“I dunno! Nothing! I’m fine,” he said in one breath, entirely too highly-pitched. Now that he was closer, MJ could see all the hairs on his arm standing up _(why she was looking so closely at his arms, God, MJ)_.

“Dude, you are not fine,” she said firmly. “Tell me what’s up, either of you.”

Ned immediately started talking, as MJ’s head started hurting again.

“So Peter’s basically been freaking out every time you’re near, it’s this weird thing that has to do with his being - “

“ **NED**.”

Peter’s outburst attracted the attention of the entire cafeteria, a sea of heads swiveling in their direction as he sunk down in his seat. MJ glared in everyone’s general direction, enough fire in her gaze that Midtown’s B lunch turned back to their own petty dramas. She turned back to the boys and lowered her voice.

“His being Spider-man?.” Peter blanched even more, going from white-boy white to piece-of-paper white, something she would have previously thought impossible, and made a set of meebling noises.  “Peter. I’m not an idiot.”

“When did you...how did you?”

“It’s obvious when you look at the times you skipped acadec practice and the times Spider-man shows up on YouTube,” she said witheringly. “Don’t think you can distract me, either, why are you freaking out?”

For a second, she thought Peter wasn’t going to answer, but then he took an incredibly deep breath, taking in enough air to fill up a hot-air balloon.

“I have this...sense, for danger, for weirdness, it helps me a lot but for some reason it started like...going off around you. Last week it was just a little bit, yesterday it was worse, and then you walked in this morning and it felt like I was stepping into a freezer.”

MJ blinked. What else was she supposed to do when Peter Parker, one of her best friends _(also the guy she most wanted to kiss? And Spiderman?)_ said that being around her freaked him out? There was no good answer to that. If this had been a novel, she would have had a stinging comeback, but none of her favorite heroines came to mind, not even Beatrice.

Peter, for his part, was staring at Ned now, which helped a bit.

“Ned, why were you going to tell her? I thought you got the whole secrecy thing as part of being the guy in the chair,” he said, sounding more puzzled than hurt.

Ned started.

“Um...I don’t know? I just needed to, I just started talking?”

If anything, Peter looked more worried. MJ, for her part, was trying to think though things. _Yesterday, I told Flash to shut up and he did. I told the guy on the train to go away and he did. I told Ned to talk and he did._

“What if _that_ was...me?” she said.


	3. rather a bird of my tongue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> informed consent (phase of consent): permission granted in the knowledge of the possible consequences

They all stared at each other for a minute - Ned confused, Peter concerned, MJ...MJ couldn’t figure out what expression was on her face. Tired? Pained? Blank? 

Now that her brain was actually working she was putting the pieces together. The headaches that coincided with people doing what she said. The extreme exhaustion. Peter’s freak out. Something was very wrong here, something that seemed to be centering on her.  _ (MJ couldn’t deny having daydreamed about being a superhero. She was convinced everyone did, particularly everyone in her generation, the generation that grew up knowing about the Avengers - but her daydreams were just that, daydreams. Silly things she did after finishing tests to kill time. She’d been perfectly happy being Michelle Jones, who was going to be a lawyer on her way to directing a non-profit that would make real change in the world. She wasn’t superhero material. That was Peter’s realm, for better or worse.)  _

_ But how could she be a lawyer if she could just...order people to do things? _ MJ felt sick to her stomach as every implication rolled into her mind. Ned hadn’t even thought about answering her question. He’d just started speaking, absently spilling a pretty big secret (even if it wasn’t a secret to her.) The guy on the train had gone away, not even spitting an insult her way, without even a second glance. Even Flash had adhered to the letter of her order, only discussing direct acadec stuff - and scarier still, none of them had seemed to realize that it was her doing. 

None of that explained the headaches, or the exhaustion, other than possibly them being the result of her basically over-using a muscle that had previously been unused. MJ tried to step back and keep evaluating, keep using her brain the way she always had, always observing and uninvolved, but a sick sense of panic was there just around the corner. What the hell had happened to her? Where had this come from?  _ (How could she make it stop?)  _

“Can you...control it?” asked Peter. His eyes were huge, and in her distraction she wanted to make a terrible joke along the lines of  _ I thought you were Spiderman, not Cat-man, _ the kind of joke that would have gotten Abe tossed from practice. 

“I don’t know.” MJ  _ loathed _ how shaky her voice sounded. She was Michelle Jones, queen of self-confidence and not caring a damn about other people! “I literally just realized this was happening, I thought I was just dealing with PMS and allergy headaches. I’m smart but I’m not  _ that _ smart, Parker.”  _ (God, now that she’d gotten snappy he looked like a wounded puppy, stop that, Spider-asshole. MJ didn’t know why he went around masked when that hurt look could stop traffic.) _

Peter stabbed a piece of limp carrot off his tray  _ (he must have really been tired, to forget to bring something more edible than the slop they were served in school) _ and stuck it in front of Ned’s face. 

“Tell Ned to eat this,” he said, his tone already shifting from ‘concerned’ to ‘dangerously experimental scientist’  _ (and if MJ didn’t know how much the comparison would hurt him, she would have said ‘You sound like Tony Stark.’)  _

“I’m not doing that!” she snapped back. “I’m not experimenting on an unconsenting subject, especially not when we have no idea what this is doing to me or him or anyone!” 

“I consent!” said Ned, a little too enthusiastically, making her think back through her words. Nothing in there could have been considered an order, right? 

“No.” 

“Peter, ask me if I consent,” Ned shot back. 

“Ned, do you consent to having MJ try her freaky voice powers to get you to eat this sad excuse for a vegetable?” Peter asked, overly seriously. 

Despite herself, despite every other emotion she was feeling, MJ was curious. Had it all been happenstance? Was there even a way to prove this was happening? 

_ Observation: A variety of mostly unconnected people had followed direct orders she made to the letter yesterday and today, against expected demonstrated behavior. _

_ Hypothesis: She had, over the last few days, developed the ability to make people do whatever she said without questioning.  _

“Well, the next step is to conduct an experiment...” she muttered, and took a deep breath. “Ned, eat that carrot.” 

She didn’t even have time to feel foolish. Ned reached forward and took the carrot off Peter’s fork, eating it faster than any piece of Midtown High mixed-veg had ever been eaten. 

Peter dropped the fork. 

“Holy shit, MJ,” said Ned. 

Now that there was proof of some kind, the panic MJ had just manage to squish came rushing back, along with the ache in her head - though that seemed to be slightly lesser than previous occurrences. Luckily,  _ (in her inner monologue, there was a question mark after that word) _ Peter had another question, but apparently she’d been internally freaking out enough that she missed it the first time he asked.

“Earth to MJ,” he said, poking her arm across the table. 

“No one’s said that for 40 years, Peter,” she snarked, but without much heat in her voice. 

“I’m curious. Can you try to order me to do something?” 

MJ rolled her eyes.  _ Just Ned wasn’t enough? _

“No.” 

“Come on!” he said just a little too enthusiastically. 

“‘No’ is a complete sentence, Peter,” she said, and drew breath to continue, but realized that what she’d been about to say could have been construed as a direct order. Crossing mental fingers that  _ whatever _ this was didn’t extend to things she wrote, she yanked a piece of paper out of her sketchbook and scribbled  _ just think about who of your weird friends/mentors/enablers I need to talk to so we can figure this out _ across it. 

Peter gingerly took the paper from her, scanned it, and then nodded. 

“Maybe - “ he lowered his voice even more, “Dr. Banner? I don’t know, he seems like a decent place to start.” 

Ned gasped and interjected “Can I come with? Please? I was a test subject!” eagerly. 

“Technically, Flash was also a test subject,” MJ said, just to be contrary, and to enjoy the way Ned’s face fell. “But these are Peter’s people so it’s his decision, and we can-shouldn’t go on an acadec afternoon.”  _ It was going to get exhausting quickly to have to think through every sentence she said, changing things to suggestions rather than orders.  _

The bell chose that moment to interrupt her train of thought, startling them all to their feet. MJ grabbed her travel mug, determined to stop by the teachers’ lounge and get a new batch of hot water for tea so she could make it through an afternoon of keeping her mouth shut in AP U.S. History, not nodding off in AP Art History, and not throwing a pen at Parker’s head in between classes if he kept staring at her with that particular look on his face. 

In APAH, it was Betty who pulled her out of her funk briefly. 

“Planning a self-portrait, MJ?” she asked, startling MJ, who had gotten to class quickly and was trying to decide if a three-minute nap would do anything at all. 

“No, why?” 

“You look like your favorite subject - someone in crisis.” Betty was far more observant and on top of things than anyone gave her credit for, MJ had found. While this was normally a trait to be admired, she rather wished the blonde could have been absorbed in whether or not she was going to get a broadcast she could actually include with scholarship applications anytime soon instead of, you know, paying attention to her friends. 

“I’m fine,” said MJ, “just feeling kinda crappy.” 

Betty looked like she wanted to push more, but the lights flickered back on as the projector whirred to a halt. MJ winced as the fluorescents brightened, the lingering headache from lunch making the change in brightness painful.  _ (Michelle Jones didn’t ditch school but she definitely wished she could have, no one could be expected to focus on the painters of dead rich white dudes after finding out they had something weird and supernatural going on with them.) _ It was definitely a relief when the bell came and she could stop even pretending to pay attention.

Peter and Ned were waiting for her outside the door, Peter with a particularly determined set to his face she’d previously seen twice: Freshman year, when he beat out Flash for the last spot on the competing acadec squad, and sophomore year, right before he walked out of homecoming. It was a little concerning to have that look directed at her, to be honest, like she was a problem to be solved and not MJ, friend and provider of common sense.

“Can you make some kind of excuse to your parents? We need to go to Manhattan,” he said.

“Hi, MJ. How are you, MJ? How is your head feeling, MJ?” she replied, pushing past him towards her locker. “Yes, my parents won’t be home until late tonight and I’ll just tell them I’m studying with you guys.” 

Two quick texts to her own parents  _ (Ned, of course, didn’t even bother to let his mom know, because he spent so much time at Peter’s that it might have been more unusual for him to actually show up right after school) _ , and a stop by the coffee shop for another tea for her and a sickeningly sweet box of pastries for Peter and Ned later, they were on the train, heading towards the skyline. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (i) Any resemblance (of MJ's power) to comics heroes/superheroes, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
> 
> (ii) I'm loosely building Midtown's scheduling and appropriate classes for grade off the Bronx High School of Science, for those of you as deeply into process-nerdery as I am.


	4. of silver tongues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wouldn't it be nice to make portals to get across New York, rather than sitting in traffic or standing in a train station for a train that may be 5 or 25 minutes away?

MJ stared out the window of the train at the changing landscape as they made their way west towards Manhattan, not really seeing the blocks go by but for the impression of brown brick and grey road and green diamond. They’d managed to grab three seats together, a minor miracle, and she’d ended up in the middle between Peter and Ned, somehow. Normally, she would have protested, but right now, with everything in her head feeling like someone had taken her life and shaken it like a snowglobe, it was kind of comforting to have two people she knew _(and trusted. Somehow, somewhere along the line, she’d slipped into trusting the both of them, and she wasn’t really sure how that had happened)_ right there, hopefully keeping her from having to interact with anyone.

So instead of talking, she stared down at her shoes. The navy blue Converse, to be specific, shoes she’d had since sixth grade, shoes that were now, technically, on a spot five years beyond when she’d last worn them _(and if that ever stopped feeling weird, MJ didn’t know what she’d do.)_ She tried to ground herself in the shoes, put her feet on the floor of the train and feel as steady as she could, pull herself away from the last eight hours of free-fall. She was Michelle Jones, impartial observer, neither athlete nor pretty girl nor completely nerd, someone completely to herself. She liked bergamot tea and brand new notebooks, the smell of a freshly used eraser and the secret thrill of victory when she surprised someone with the fact that she had really been paying attention all along. She had friends, but they were all best friends with someone else, which allowed her to attend to her own business at will. She did things because _she_ wanted to, both sincerely and ironically and with never a hint at which was which. She had a secret tumblr and a whole collage of friends from there, and could tell you about both Doctor Who and the inequalities of the American justice system with the same amount of ease.

By the time she finished this mental inventory _(and she was thrilled that Peter and Ned seemed content to let her stare at her shoes in peace for an hour, Peter only nudging her with his elbow when their stop to switch trains approached)_ , they were off the train and emerging into the dusky sunlight near Washington Square Park.

“It’s...” Peter consulted his phone, “one long block over and four blocks up?”

He seemed unsure, but MJ was tired of not _doing_ anything, and so took off in the direction Maps was indicating, not bothering to wait for Peter or Ned to catch up. She heard them running behind her, and half a block later, they were all back together.

It was a bit weird, walking through the buildings of NYU, thinking about the fact that she could have been there, been one of the harried looking students hiking across Washington Square Park, five years older, maybe lonelier but in the flow of things. It was easy, even, to imagine this as it might have been - the three of them were heading to class as college friends, not going to see an Avenger and multi-degreed scientist because something incredibly freaky was happening.

She kept doing that, today, and she didn’t like it one bit. MJ had dealt with anxiety, sure, but never quite like this, where she kept letting her thoughts run out in front of her like so many off-leash dogs. She’d always had a rich inner life, but it was built on observing the outside world, not looking at the inside of her head and thinking _entirely_ too much about what on earth was happening.

This time, she had the spiral interrupted by Ned stopping short in front of her, so suddenly that she did actually walk into him.

“Sorry, dude,” she muttered, and he sent her an apologetic look over his shoulder.

“I mean, I’m the one who stopped, and that’s Peter’s fault so we’re even.”

“His office should be in here,” Peter said by way of explanation, pointing at the stately building across the street. MJ barked out a laugh, and waved it away when the boys turned to stare. ( _Of course his office was in the Triangle building, a fact that felt...right though she had no idea how.)_

Peter led them into the lobby, stopping at the directory to seemingly double-check an office number.

Finally, Banner opened the door, blinking at them for a minute. MJ felt her irritation returning, the barely suppressed anxiety and fear she’d managed to breath out on their trip up the stairs, and almost irrationally turned around and left.

“Come in, come in!” he boomed out at them, apparently realizing that yes, he did expect to have three high-school students waiting outside his office door. He stood back, holding open the door with one green arm.

“Hi-doctor-Banner-nice-to-see-you-thanks-for-answering-so-quickly,” Peter said, all in one breath, as he slipped past into the neat but crowded office. MJ said nothing, finding silence prudent. Ned just stared, apparently not so immune to being starstruck as his long exposure to Peter might make you think.

Once they were all inside, MJ felt no issue taking a long look around. Everything was neat, if overstuffed - bookcases stretched up to above where even a tall person normally could reach, the desk chair like a fun-house chair. She felt small, in here, something she hadn’t felt in a while. It was a quiet place, save for the hum of the overhead lights, the small window letting in the spring sunshine. The wall around that window was covered in diplomas, the only things in frames in the entire office _(and if she was distancing again, trying to avoid thinking of why she was in this office by describing it as if she were going to recreate it later, so be it.)_

“So, who are your friends, Peter?” Dr. Banner asked kindly, turning to pick up a thermos full of something that sent fragrant steam into the air.

“This is-”

MJ interrupted.

“I’m Michelle. The open-mouthed one is Ned.” _(Peter might trust Dr. Banner, but that didn’t mean he could introduce her as MJ. That was earned (and could be revoked at any time.))_

Dr. Banner extended his hand, and MJ shook it. It was a little bit like having an out-of-body experience, to be standing here in the office of an Avenger, the Hulk, shaking his hand, being shocked at the gentleness of his grip. Ned took a deep breath beside her, steadfastly ignoring Peter’s teasing look, and found the resolve within him to shake the Hulk’s hand _(MJ knew that the Hulk had been Ned’s favorite Avenger before Peter came along, and before Spiderman meant that Iron Man kind of rocketed up the personal-favs list.)_ If she squinted, they were all just there on office hours.

“So, Peter,” Dr. Banner started, turning back to where Peter was lounging against a bookshelf in an entirely too distracting way. “What exactly brings you and your friends out to my end of the city?”

Peter just looked at her over Dr. Banner’s shoulder, his gaze suddenly as serious as that night he’d walked into the dance with death hanging over his head. MJ shuddered, took a deep breath, and started in.

“So, it’s me. It’s something that’s happened to? with? me. I... _(spit it out, Michelle, be brave)_ can make people do what I say.”

The words hung in the air, almost tangibly enough that she could grab them and stuff them back into her mouth. Dr. Banner turned to look at her fully, and she stared right back at him, daring him to say something, anything, off kilter, off key.

“You can do what? And when did this start? And have you been experiencing any side-effects?” He reached behind him and grabbed a tablet, pulling a stylus out of his shirt pocket.

“I can order or ask people to do something and they’ll do it. I told Ned to eat the sad thing they try to pass off as a carrot at school and he did, I told a creep on the subway to get away and he did without even trying to stab me. I’ve been getting headaches and last night I slept for 13 hours. I can’t tell you everything I’ve eaten ever but today it was a bagel and half a sandwich and a bunch of tea-”

No sooner than she’d said the last but Ned was shoving a granola bar into her hand. She looked at him, raising the eyebrow that was usually a precursor to the middle finger and he held his hands up defensively.

“Peter gets hungry all the time! I just carry them on me now.”

She took the granola bar, but didn’t open it quite yet. Dr. Banner was still scribbling, and then looked up.

“I have one more question before I can even hypothesize but...I assume...”

MJ inferred what he wasn’t saying.

“Yeah, apparently I got poofed. Disappeared. Dusted. Dead, for five years, and now here, doing this.”

Dr. Banner _hmm_ ’d and scribbled some more on his tablet. Peter was staring at the ceiling, also apparently deep in thought. Ned...had pulled out his phone, apparently perfectly fine with being along for the ride, and very used to long and awkward silences. She looked over his shoulder, and then jabbed him with an elbow.

“Twitter? _That_ Twitter?” she whispered, not wanting to interrupt Dr. Banner’s thought process, which had led him to actually sit down at his desk. “You run the SpideyofNewYork Twitter?”

Ned looked at her as if she was missing something.

“Who better than me?” he whispered back. “Better I run it than, like, Flash, because then it’d just be ridiculous fawning.”

MJ didn’t even know what to do with this information, but that was going to be a long and drawn-out conversation for another time. _(Some part of her was annoyed that Ned hadn’t even consulted her, putting aside that, well, neither she nor Peter had said out loud the word ‘Spider-man.’)_ She slumped back against the bookshelf, wondering if she could sneak in a nap since it looked like Dr. Banner was going to be a while. Figuring that would be just slightly too rude (though, if everyone stood around silently for long enough, it’d happen anyway), she pulled her book out of her messenger bag and tried to concentrate on Tris realizing she needed her friends.

She’d read the same paragraph about six times, unable to focus even though she’d read this book enough to basically have it memorized, before the phone on Dr. Banner’s desk rung. He squinted at the number, as Ned, who apparently _had_ managed to zone out, jumped enough to knock over a row of books. Peter didn’t move from the floor, where he was working on the physics lab, even when Dr. Banner picked up the phone, his hand dwarfing the standard office set.

“Yes?” he asked. _(_ _Ah, yes, time to play one of her favorite games - reconstruct the words on the other end just from responses.)_

“You think what?....that was the direction I was leaning...yes, she was,” _(he’d clearly emailed a hypothesis to someone and was getting a second opinion and no, she wasn’t super thrilled she hadn’t been consulted on this)_ “no, well, Parker’s here, no, why can’t you...”

Dr. Banner trailed off as a glowing circle grew out of nowhere in front of the wall currently not occupied by a window, a Peter, or MJ and a (by now definitely not dozing) Ned. MJ would have described the person stepping through that hole _(_ _which, can we go back to the hole in the air, like, this is a thing that’s happening now, in front of her, on this day, located entirely within this kitch-office)_ as “dignified” except that he was wearing the finest in....yoga? chic and wearing an entirely ridiculous cape. He made a gesture and the portal closed.

“If I had tried to get across town right now in a cab, Bruce, it would have been hours,” said the intruder. Apparently, this argument was well-known to Dr. Banner, because he rolled his eyes and stood up from his desk.

“You could have, I don’t know, taken the train,” MJ muttered, and immediately regretted it. Some day, she would get a handle on her brain-mouth connection in times of stress, but apparently today was not that day.

Luckily, Dr. Banner stepped in.

“Peter, Ned, Michelle - this is Dr. Stephen Strange, one of those who fought with us a few months ago, and also an expert on some things relating to the, well...” he paused, “...the Infinity Stones.”

Dr. Strange nodded at each of them, but made no move to shake hands, and looked at MJ with a piercing gaze that she wasn’t exactly thrilled about.

“So. You’re shaping thoughts with your voice now, is that right?”

He sounded skeptical. _(MJ couldn’t blame him. She would have been skeptical herself, had it not been happening to her.)_

She nodded, once, then returned to squinting at him. His glove-covered hand drifted up to his chin, and he looked like he was doing complex calculations in his head, which, from what she’d dragged out of Peter about him, was likely.

“Miss Jones - “

“Michelle.” _(Miss? Ugh, it’s 201-no-2023, at least say Ms.)_

“I’d like to try something, if you don’t mind. It might seem unusual but it shouldn’t hurt you and there are two MDs in the room if something does happen.”

MJ thought about it, shrugged mentally, and sighed.

“I mean, it can’t be worse than me testing this on Ned.”

Strange nodded as if this made complete sense and lifted his hands. The last thing she’d remember before the room went black was a shimmering net of gold forming around his fingers, the patterns of which she _just_ couldn’t quite decipher.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, at a cliffhanger! Also, we get hypotheses and magic and MJ remaining incredibly unimpressed at it all. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone for your kind comments, and a double thank-you to my dear first reader, who has saved me from my tendency to jump over sticking points with [] and then forget to come back to them. 
> 
> I won't make any promises as to when the next chapter will show up, but we're into the fun stuff now, so don't fear.


	5. the land and the sky fall quiet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What do you do when one of the most fundamental things about yourself changes?

“Hey! Hey, MJ! Wake up!”

Peter’s panicked voice cut through the darkness, the very real worry in it hitting her somewhere deep inside. MJ opened her eyes, and the world spun a little bit off its axis. She’d been leaning up against the bookshelf, last she checked, and now she was on the floor, her head propped on something soft, with Peter hovering over her. She closed her eyes again, counted to five, and took a deep breath.

“Anyone want to explain to me what just happened?” she said, her normal well of sarcasm seemingly gone dry for the moment. When she re-opened her eyes, everything felt a little steadier, and she was able to focus on the also-worried faces of Dr. Banner and Ned, and the annoyingly intrigued face of Dr. Strange. She reached out her hand and Peter helped her sit up, looking like he didn’t want to let go. Dr. Banner handed a mug to Ned and pointed out the door, and after one more worried look at her, he went.

MJ had never been one for passing out. She’d felt crappy before, yeah - on particularly heavy flow days when she didn’t drink enough water, or that one time she’d tried to skateboard and crashed pretty hard, _(and yeah she’d stood up too soon but how was she to know what shock felt like?)_ but she’d never actually fainted and she couldn’t say she cared for it one bit.

Ned came back in with a steaming hot mug, to which Dr. Banner added a bag of tea and handed to her. Peter continued to look at her all worried, which was getting annoying.

“Peter. I’m fine,” she said, breathing in the steam from the mug. Even that was helping her feel more centered, more real. _(She really didn’t want to think about the first thing that had gone through her head, which was ‘did we all die again?’)_ Dr. Strange was scribbling something on a notebook page, but looked up as she looked at him, as if he felt her gaze.

“Be assured, Ms. Jones, that is not how I expected that to go,” he said, as if this were merely something dividing or not dividing in a petri dish and not her passing out in the office of an Avenger. “I do now have a theory on what has happened, though.” He paused, seemingly for effect.

“When Bruce snapped his fingers to bring people back, each stone flared with energy, and that energy - basically, a kind of radiation - spun out to undo what happened, my theory is that certain people possibly interacted with the stones more than others, and, for the lack of a better term, picked up an echo. We’ve seen reports of people coming back stronger, or more persuasive, and there was the one rumor out of South Korea of someone phasing through matter.”

MJ’s fingers were pale around the mug, something she didn’t notice until Ned, who had slid down to sit next to her, poked her elbow gently. _So, there’s no coming back from this?_ she thought, her dizziness back at being forced to confront the whole _dying and came back different_ thing all over again.

Dr. Strange had apparently not noticed her discomfort, continuing his monologue.

“You’re actually the first person I’ve seen that I believe this to have happened to. As for the fainting, current working hypothesis is that because I’ve worked so much with the Time Stone, it and the Mind Stone, which would fit what you’ve described happening for you, would not love to play along.”

At this point, Dr. Banner stepped in, rubbing his scarred arm absentmindedly.

“With your permission, Michelle, I’d like to take a sample of your blood and run some diagnostics on it.”

“I don’t know how I feel about that,” MJ said, her voice finally gaining some strength back. _She really_ **_didn’t_ ** _know how she felt. On one hand, she was fucked anyway. On the other, she could be fucked without the government having her blood._

Unlike Strange, Banner seemed able to read the indecision on her face.

“I’ll destroy it after I test it, if that makes you more comfortable,” he said. “That’s what I did for Steve, especially...” he trailed off, but made a shrugging gesture with one hand.

MJ knew she shouldn’t, but somehow she trusted him. She nodded, and hauled herself up off the floor.

“Are you sure she should be giving blood right now?” asked Peter, who had remained admirably silent through the whole discussion.

“ _S_ _he_ is right here, Parker,” MJ snapped at him as she rolled up her sleeve. “And _she_ feels fine.” _It was nice, how worried he was, but also, literally, standing here, not passed out._

Strange all but rolled his eyes, and Banner was doing an excellent impression of a man who wasn’t listening as he picked up a badge and keys off his desk.

“We’ll need to step down to the lab,” he said, gesturing towards the door, a hint MJ gladly took. A whispered _sorry_ from Peter as she stalked by got a nod, and his relieved face definitely didn’t make her want to smile.

The lab was spartan, sparse, and high-tech, a combination that set MJ’s nerves on edge, and clearly reminded Peter of another lab from the way he hesitated at the door. Ned walked in happily chatting with Banner about something...biology related, and MJ kicked the call she was getting to voicemail without looking as she settled herself into a likely-looking chair.

Dr. Banner showed her the sterile casing for the needle and tube, and she winced as the needle pricked the inside of her elbow, looking up at the ceiling of the lab to avoid seeing her blood flowing into the container. Because everything in her life had _absolutely perfect timing_ , her phone started vibrating again. She awkwardly fished it out of her pocket with her opposite hand and after glancing at the caller ID, sent it to voicemail again.

Once four vials of blood had been collected, Banner sent them off to [deli] down the street for sandwiches while the tests ran.  

By this time, MJ was tired of the silence. For two boys who never ever shut up, Peter and Ned had been alarmingly quiet over the last few hours, and it made her feel even weirder, even worse. She took a deep breath, and said the first non-freaky-Stone-thing that came to mind.

“Really, Peter? Running your own fan account? That’s a little big-headed, dude.”

Peter turned pink and looked like a dying fish, all open-mouthed. Ned jumped in, always the wingman.

“In his defense, I started it! People were hashtagging him and I thought as part of my dude-in-chair-duties it was a good idea! And now we just kinda...make things happen, or we did.” MJ felt a bubble of happiness well up as Peter and Ned launched into an apparently well-rehearsed argument over whose responsibility the Twitter, _and oh Lord, the Tumblr?_ was, and what their future plans for it could be.

By the time they walked back, stomachs full of sandwich and soda and a communal bag of chips, MJ had managed to breathe some of the stress out of her shoulders. They tumbled back into the lab laughing at Peter’s re-telling of one of his more embarrassing fall stories, to be greeted by Dr Banner, alone, looking at a set of images up on a screen.

He turned around to greet them, and in that instant, MJ felt her blood go cold. Whatever he’d found, she wasn’t going to like it.

“The good news is, Michelle, you should be through the worst of the headaches and tiredness,” he started. “This is because, well, I don’t know how to tell you, but...functionally, your body’s been changed, a quick kind of adaptation to this new kind of ability.”

All the lightness she’d managed to find in that trip to the deli fled, looking at the results. He didn’t know how to tell her? _How could she expect him to know? How was she supposed to react, to being now something different? She’d always been different, worn that difference around her like a shield and accepted its use as a target, fought for her right to be a person in the world, for others to be a people in the world, and so she supposed this should be easier but - to look at the incontrovertible proof that she was now something not quite...human?_

“I understand that this has been a big shock,” said Dr. Banner, gently. She was suddenly even more aware of his green skin, the overly-large hands. Peter bumped his elbow against hers, silently offering support, and all MJ wanted to do was run, was get the hell out of there and go home, go home to her mom and her sister and watch her mouth and keep her head down and forget everything that had happened across this horrible day. Some other part of her just wanted to _run_ , get away from everyone she ever loved.

“I think,” there was that terrible small voice again, she _hated_ hearing herself like this, “I think I want to go and think.” Dr. Banner nodded, and that was almost worse, the fact that he _felt sorry_ for her. She picked up her bag, while Dr. Banner pulled Peter aside and said something in his ear.

They were on the train before MJ knew it, Peter and Ned both kind of bundling her along in a way that would have been profoundly annoying had she not needed it. Ned stood, hanging on to a strap, while Peter sat about three inches away, giving her space. She stared at Peter’s hand on the seat between them. _Was this what it was like, when he realized what being Spiderman, what having the ability to cling onto walls and walk off car crashes meant?_ Knowing Peter, it probably wasn’t. _He probably just accepted it and moved on, the price he paid for helping people. It was easier for him, though,_ MJ thought, _he can actually help people! I could just as easily destroy them._

It was a sobering thought, the thing she’d been dancing around all evening. She kept staring at Peter’s hand, the hand that could stick to ceilings, thinking back to earlier in the day _(how had it been earlier in the same day?)_ when she’d finally let him in on the fact that she knew what he did for a hobby. He was so blind, sometimes, and yet, one of the smartest people she knew, who wanted to be a good person, who accepted his mistakes and learned from them more often than not.

She finally glanced up from Peter’s hand to see him looking at her _(Ned was studiously deeply involved in his phone, though some part of her that still got to be a teenager figured he was ready to text half the school about the outcome of various bets if they, oh God, held hands)_ , his face an open question. Instead of talking, she finally just reached out and took his hand, the solid reality of it comforting. She held his hand like that, not speaking, just being, two not-quite-humans trying to hold their shit together, all the way back to Queens, back up into the humid night, dropping contact right before walking into Peter’s apartment.

“May’s not home, late shift tonight,” said Peter, “and even if she were you guys would both be free to stay?”

Ned sighed.

“As much as I’d like to stick around and watch you two stare at each other, my mom’s threatened to throw out half my legos if I don’t show my face tonight.” He waved, and started back down the stairs.

That left MJ and Peter staring at each other.

“I don’t really want to go home,” she said, finally, because apparently otherwise they were just going to stand there in the entryway until May got home and ran into them.

Peter brightened.

“I have 30 episodes of Iron Chef America recorded,” he said, pointing towards the TV, “and about ten Choppeds, if we need a break.” He threw himself over the back of the couch with a grace that made her suspicious of his seeming everyday clumsiness, like he was holding back part of himself when at school. A part he didn’t have to hide around her, any more, because she was the same as him.

She stood there, not moving, as the words she’d wanted to say the entire evening bubbled up unbidden.

“It’s not **_fair_ **,” she bit out. Peter turned around, the laughter gone from his face.

“I just feel like...of all the things I could have gotten, of all the _powers_ ,” she spat the word derisively, “I had to get the one that only lends itself to super-villainy! For me, being good means...shutting up!”

There was more, beyond that. _As a woman, as a woman of color, I already have to be good and quiet or risk being seen as dangerous and now I_ **_am_ ** _dangerous and I didn’t ask for this, I didn’t want this, I didn’t need this, I was going to be_ great _on my own,_ but she just couldn’t seem to get the words out. Her head felt tight, all the tension in her neck bleeding up behind her skull.

The worried look was back on Peter’s face, and she didn’t know how to react. Was he worried she was about to do something stupid, order him around, or was he worried because he...worried about people?

“You’ll figure it out. You’re MJ.”

Despite the look on his face, he said this with a quiet confidence, and it deflated the anger built up in her chest, and she slumped back against the wall. _That was his real power_ , she decided, _not the walking on walls, but the unshakeable belief in other people._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess the line I wrote about three weeks ago and then had to wait to get to this point to include! 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone for your comments - and as I thought I'd end up taking a longer time to post, I ended up posting more. We'll see if that trend continues!

**Author's Note:**

> "What if?" I woke up a few days after seeing Endgame wondering. "What if something happened in the un-Snap and that's how we're getting the fold-in of the Fox characters Marvel's re-acquired? What if I ignored all that and wrote this?"


End file.
